Kiss with a Fist
by thisonefeelslikeaflower
Summary: James and Shepard engage in a friendly fist fight. Events occur between ME2 and 3, before the Reaper invasion. Shenanigans ensue. FShep/James


"Fight me."

Even before she spoke, James had heard her coming. Shepard's boots clicked on the smooth tile of the floor in such a quick and syncopated pattern that he knew she was angry. He looked up from his data pad and found his suspicions confirmed as soon as he laid eyes on her face as she strode into his room. Her expression was tight, jaw clenched. After staring at him for a long moment she let out a rush of air and tried to flash a smile, then a confident smirk. "That is, if you're not tired of getting beaten already."

"This comes as a bit of surprise, Lola," he teased, "I wasn't expecting a visit today. Something big's happening. Thought they might have involved you for once."

"Yeah, me too." Shepard was irritated. Even with her extensive knowledge on the Reapers and the Protheans, Alliance HQ wasn't paying a bit of attention to her warnings. They would find clues, or alerts, and still refuse to let her, much less anyone else, in on their suspicions. Fact was, they would prefer to believe in anything else but the existence of an enemy that wanted to wipe out civilization completely. And then there were, of course, her ties to Cerberus to consider. To them, the best decision was to lock her up and ignore her almost entirely, but to at least keep her close at hand. Unsurprisingly, this certainly wasn't the first time Shepard had come to James for the chance to blow off some steam. Even though she was his responsibility, it hadn't been very difficult for them to get comfortable with one another. Shepard was one to make the best of any situation, and she was damned easy to get along with. A sight for sore eyes, as well. But he knew the months of being grounded were wearing on her. Briefly she clenched and unclenched her fists before looking up to him with a questioning eyebrow. "Well?"

"Yeah, yeah, okay, gimme a sec." He began unbuttoning his uniform, stripping down to the plain white tee underneath. Shepard was already dressed in a loose tank top and the standard cargo pants. Already she was habitually cracking her knuckles. "Where we goin', eh? Gym?"

"I don't care. Though you've certainly got enough space here."

"Anxious, are we?" James grinned. While the HQ unsurprisingly did have a state of the art work out center, he had chosen a room that would give him the space to exercise when he wanted the privacy. Weights and a small assortment of equipment were all pushed to one side of the room. Shepard was already seated on the bench of the bench press, tying up what strands she could of her shoulder-length red hair.

James stood with his arms crossed, knowing full well the extent to which the positioning made his muscles bulge. Shepard rolled her blue eyes to the ceiling.

"Oh don't get cocky yet, Vega."

"And why not? It's satisfying to know that the woman who brought down Saren, Sovereign, and an entire fucking Collector base still can't handle _this._ "

"Let's just see you talk with your fists, James."

Without hesitating, James threw a fist at the ex-Commander's face, or where it would have been if she wasn't so light on her feet. He had punched lazily and knew it wouldn't hit; he just wanted to get this party started. Shepard danced away from the bench and a few feet ahead of James, grinning. While she was only a few inches shorter than him, he was about two times as broad.

"That was pitiful," she said flatly.

"Didn't wanna ruin the make-up."

"Good. That'll make my job a lot easier." Shepard threw a series of punches at James, most which were avoided, though one landed squarely in the middle of his chest. James grunted.

"What, you afraid I'm gonna break? You can hit harder than that, Lola."

Shepard narrowed her eyes and, though she was smiling, she kept her lips closed. For a time they were silent as they fought. James found himself having to force himself to keep up with Shepard, which wasn't awfully unusual. Where he had brute strength, she had speed, and she sure played on her advantage. But that wasn't it, either. This was a release for her. Within minutes her little smirk had faded and only tense concentration remained. She threw all of her effort into her swings and eventually incorporated brief jabbing kicks, as well. All of the tension and frustration he had seen on her face when she first walked in was finding its escape here. He knew exactly how she was feeling. Shepard threw her whole self into the fight to avoid thinking of anything else; if anyone was worth their salt in hand-to-hand, it was because they didn't allow anything else to distract them. And just when he was about to appreciate the pretty philosophy of the sport, he realized too late that the punch to his right side was a fake, and her real swing came crashing into the left side of his jaw. He swore.

"You asked for that, _Jimmy._ "

"I got you with that one last week!"

"Oh, I learn." Shepard reached up to rub at the bruise to her own jaw that had nearly faded out. She laughed at the surprised look on his face as he rubbed at his jaw. "Kiss it make it better?" she teased.

"Don't tempt me, Shepard."

Shepard waggled her eyebrows and eyed him sidelong as she tugged her sweat-soaked shirt over her head, revealing a modest, plain black sports bra. She laughed good-naturedly and rubbed at the back of her neck, using the discarded tank top as a rag.

"And now you're trying to distract me."

"You accuse me of that every time and yet it's never stopped you from winning before."

"Damn right, and it won't this time, either. But if we're gonna play faaaair…" James peeled off his already tight tee and threw it to the ground.

"You're full of it," Shepard scoffed.

"And I've got every right to be." He gave her a wink and flexed his pectorals. Individually. One after the other. Shepard sighed loudly and began to roll her eyes skyward. But then suddenly, they widened.

"Hey, is this new?" Shepard stepped in close and went to trace a finger down the line of his neck, eyeing the crossing lines of one of his tribal-esque tattoos. Her clear blue eyes were staring into his evenly. Her lips were tilted up to one side in a crooked smile, slightly parted.

James grinned in return and straightened himself, shoulders thrust back. "I mean, I had him add on a bit more too it, sure, but it's still the same—" He grunted as her other fisted hand shot into his stomach, causing him to double over. Fortunately he caught on quickly enough that he crouched down further to avoid the second hit that went flying over his head. Laughing, Shepard danced away, hands raised in a fighting stance. Her eyes glinted with mirth. Now she was the one full of it.

"You know, I heard a lot of different things about you before you came here, _Lola."_ He let the name he had given her roll off of his tongue smoothly, talking as they circled each other. "Shepard's a badass. She's intimidating as hell. Hot as hell. Could kill you a hundred different ways with a toothbrush. Can't dance worth anything. She's seen some shit that'd give anyone nightmares." And then he was advancing on her, his grin stretching to either side of his face. Within moments he had her backed into a corner, and even as she blocked one of his punches, he pushed. Her arm was holding his maybe an inch or two away from her face, and he used the opportunity to get in close. "But no one ever told me she was such a goddamn _tease."_ And then he was dancing away again, giving her a chance to recover.

Shepard looked both amused and disgruntled at once, mostly disgruntled about how easily he had overcome her. "Well aren't you one to talk, Vega." She then paused briefly, and her expression grew sour. "I can dance just fine. _Watch."_

And then they were at it again, and a new fire had lit in Shepard's eyes. James could tell that all of the tension and worries from early had been completely forgotten, and now she was only in it for the fun. Over time they increased their arena, straying from James' mini-gym and using the entirety of his room. He was a high enough ranking officer that he was allowed such space. Shepard soon found herself leaping over chairs, using his desk as cover, and once rolling over his bed to escape a nearly unavoidable kick. But then he was cornering her again, and this time in the mini kitchen. The oven stood to one side, the bar to another. Really, it was perhaps the worst position she could have been in. She looked up at James with narrowed eyes.

"Oho, don't look at me like that, chicka. You won't find any pity here."

She had her back to the fridge now, but she didn't stop throwing punches. Some hit and she was rewarded with a few grunts, but most didn't. Within moments he had her wrist locked in one tight grip, and within seconds, the other, too. He pinned both of them on fridge above her, next to some cartoon magnet of an asari's profile some friend had sent him as a souvenir. Shepard's jaw was tight, and James was awfully loose as his lips spread to reveal a satisfied grin. Both of them were panting by now, and sweat had slicked both of their bodies.

"It was a good fight, but." He shrugged. "Any last words, Lola?" He brought his face in close, as close as hers had come when she was "inspecting" his tattoo.

"I could break your nose from this position if I wanted to."

"But you won't."

"I won't. But there's another way I can still come out on top."

"Prove it."

"Are you sure, Mr. Vega? Could end up… messy."

"I can handle messy."

"You asked for it."

Shepard arched her back, creating distance between her body and the refrigerator, inevitably pressing her front up against James' chest. One eyebrow rose questioningly on his forehead and his mouth quirked up into a smirk, but he didn't say anything. Shepard grinned playfully at him before, using all the strength and momentum she could muster, she slammed her body back against the refrigerator. It only moved back maybe three inches, but that was all she needed. The muffled sound of glass clicking against glass could be heard, and James looked up just in time to see two bottle of liquor teetering at the edge of the refrigerator.

"Aw, shit."

Immediately he released her wrists and shot out either hand towards the falling bottles. He let out sigh as the alcohol fell safely into the either of his hands, but before he could rejoice too much, an arm came and wrapped itself around his neck. He could practically hear Shepard grinning as she spoke softly into his ear.

"Any last words?" she purred.

James considered briefly the bottles in his hand and smiled even as he let out a long, defeated sigh. "Shall we drink to your very first victory?" His tone was mocking, teasing.

After a long moment, Shepard spoke. "Actually, James. I would love a drink."


End file.
